


ride into the blue

by kadma



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, F/F, Fast Cars, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 01:38:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12025374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kadma/pseuds/kadma
Summary: It's quiet, and it's not all bad, listening to Peyton's rhythmic breathing and that all-too familiar hum of an expensive car caressing the road.Written for Hurt/Comfort on my@seasonofkink card.Written for #1 in theShakespeare Quote Prompt Table.





	ride into the blue

**Author's Note:**

> "Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold." - As You Like It

"We need to talk about what happened back there."

Peyton doesn't look at her, just presses her foot on the gas and speeds up. For a moment, Billie is mesmerised by the red needle as it rises past forty, forty-five, and finally floats over fifty.

The car judders over a bump in the road.

Peyton barely glances at her before turning her attention back to the open highway, which is all grey and white streaks blending into the sky above.

"We don't _need_ to do anything," she says. "We do what we want, remember?"

"Fine," concedes Billie, folding her arms and leaning back into her seat. "I _want_ to talk about it."

Peyton settles into the silence like it's a veil behind which she can hide. Billie pouts, too stubborn to be the first one to disrupt the smooth purr of the stolen Lamborghini. It's a beautiful car, really, gorgeous in the way that pin-up posters and centerfolds are, and just as primed to be pasted on the wall of some spotty teenage boy's room. The deep blue paint job, the way it coasts along the road like it's floating an inch off the ground (except when it bumps, and at the speed Peyton's taking them, it bumps _hard._ )

Billie closes her eyes. On any other day, she'd fiddle with the radio and pick out the loudest, catchiest pop song and belt it out, turning any number into a duet with Peyton. That's what they are, and that's what she usually likes -- duality. Two (very similar) sides of the same coin. But now, it's quiet, and it's not all bad, listening to Peyton's rhythmic breathing and that all-too familiar hum of an expensive car caressing the road.

The rush of adrenaline that follows their thefts, it's incredible. But where Billie gets high on the pumping blood and too-clear vision, Peyton feels something else, and shuts down, somewhat, in the face of their actions. Until they're far, far away from the scene of the crime, never to return, of course, she's subdued, quiet, so unlike herself that Billie can't help but worry.

Peyton is a woman who gets results: she lives and breathes for the leather under her fingers and wailing of police sirens fading into the dust behind them. Billie, on the other hand, does what she does for the experience, for the way it makes her feel.

"Don't doze on me now, babe," Peyton snaps. Billie jolts back to the present. Peyton's hand is on her thigh, squeezing her exposed flesh until it hurts, and she wants to cry out, tell her to stop, but Peyton won't even look at her, staring straight ahead like a laser pointer aimed at the horizon. So Billie sits there, gritting her teeth through the pain, and well, she'll even admit it becomes numbing after a point, and the thought of not being able to wear short shorts for the next week because of the blooming bruises is almost enough for her to break the silence, but not quite, because what Peyton will do to make up for this is much more fun.

Suddenly, she swerves the car onto the side of the road; the screeching is mirrored by Billie's startled cry, and all the while Peyton wears a self-satisfied smirk. She pulls the key from the ignition and looks at Billie, softly, and brushes a lock of dark hair away from her eyes. She releases her thigh and admires the work of her strong fingers: a set of purple marks only beginning to take shape against her sunless tanner-toned legs.

"What the hell was that?!" Billie demands an explanation.

"We're safe now," says Peyton, and Billie knows it's true, and they fall into each others arms and hold each other, until the waves of frazzled fear melt into the warmth of their too-close bodies.

"Babe," Billie sighs into Peyton's neck, brushing her lips against Peyton's jaw and dragging the smudgy red lipstick along the side of her face. "I want you... I want you to say you're sorry."

"You know I'm sorry."

"Yeah," says Billie, and nips at Peyton's earlobe, revelling at the surprised gasp that follows, "but I still want you to say it."

Peyton's eyes are glittering, alive, and Billie knows she's enjoying this, too.

"How 'bout I show you instead?"

And this time, as her long fingers dance along the seam of Billie's shorts and stroke her skin through the material, the movements are so tender, that Billie lets herself relax, lets herself sigh out every ounce of tension, and Peyton smiles, and licks her lips, and promises she'll make up for the hurt she's caused.


End file.
